


Fight For You (Boxer!Tattoo Artist! AU)

by revengingbarnes



Series: Fight For You (Boxer!Tattoo Artist AU) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Angst, Art, Boxer Bucky, Boxing, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Metal Arm Kink, Mirror Sex, NSFW, Pining, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Vaginal Sex, tattoo artist bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revengingbarnes/pseuds/revengingbarnes
Summary: Brooklyn, New York.At the annual local boxing championship, Y/N is the leading medical specialist on call. It’s a whole new environment, and despite the drastic change, she loves it.Bucky Barnes is the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. Virtually undefeated, this tattoo artist by day, boxer by night is someone that is now fighting his way into Y/N’s head. And she’s helpless in front of his winning streak.





	1. Chapter 1

You eyed the building through your car windshield, taking in the looming gray walls. You knew it wasn’t as gloomy at it looked in the daylight. On the occasions you had driven past it at night, it was lit very enthusiastically, screams of the crowd and the booming voices in the microphones excited and loud.

You looked back down at the letter to confirm the place one more time, even though you knew you were at the right location. Then, taking a deep breath and grabbing your purse, you exited the vehicle.

The inside wasn’t as quiet as the outside seemed. There were a few people milling about, setting chairs and picking cups, tidying up after yesterday’s game and simultaneously preparing for the one tonight. They talked and laughed among each other, engrossed in their jobs. You milled about for a few moments, trying to orient yourself and then look around the place to a door that might lead you to the man you were here to see.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” You barely stopped yourself from yelping out loud at the sudden loud voice. Turning to your right, you saw a man with a wide smile, looking at you expectantly. He wore a blue T-shirt with a familiar logo on the front that said ‘Brooklyn Boxing Rink’ in white. He was one of the workers.

You nodded and he gestured behind him.

“Boss told me to bring you around at the back when you showed up. Follow me.”

You nodded again, unable to speak as he turned and started walking, you following him. He led you around the huge hall to a door at the opposite end.

The corridor you walked down was dimly lit. You looked around nervously, glancing into various rooms with open doors. Conversation floated out from a few of them, but none that you concentrated upon. Eventually, the man leading you stopped at a single door, knocking on it. He walked in when a rushed ‘come in’ sounded.

The office was small but neatly kept, with a medium sized desk, a glass cabinet filled with files and a phone that was incessantly ringing. The man behind the desk was short and stocky, with rimless glasses and thick, bushy hair. He gave you a smile, gesturing for you to take the chair opposite to the desk as he put the phone receiver to his ear. You had seen his picture before so you were sure this was Bobby Moore, the guy who owned the place where all of the community’s boxing matches were held.

Brooklyn was a populous and tightly knit area. When people here were passionate, they went all out. And they had a special love for boxing that they just wouldn’t let go. Whether they did it just for kicks or as a career, they put their all into it. The matches were frequent and the house was always packed. You weren’t surprised that people behind the scenes of these epic battles were just as into their jobs as all the ones that watched and played.

You waited while Moore conversed with some guy on the phone, speaking quietly. You fiddled with your first gets and looked around the office some more. When he hung up, you turned your attention back to him and smiled.

“Dr. Y/L/N, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” He said. “You’re the first good thing to happen on this crappy day.”

You laughed slightly and thanked him.

“I’m sure they briefed you already about the work hours and the side bits you needed to know?”

You nodded at his words. “Yes. I just came by to confirm my attendance. The first match of the tournament is tonight, I assume?”

Moore nodded. “Yes. The trials have gone pretty well. The bruises are usually minor. But you know how things like this go. The mayor wanted a trained professional to be present at every match. I wouldn’t have disturbed the hospital if I could help it. I was over the moon when you volunteered.”

You smiled at his words. “It’s a substitute for my clinic hours. And I have a feeling this will be more exciting than sitting in one room for four hours a day.”

“That I can guarantee you.” He grinned. He turned back to his phone, picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear. “I’m assuming you brought all you’ll need?”

You nodded again. “Yes. I’ll just need someone to pick the stuff up. It’s in my car.”

He nodded and began talking on the phone. Minutes later, a man in the same blue T-shirt stepped in. He was short and lanky, slightly pale, all blond and blue-eyed.

“This is Steve Rogers. He’ll show you around the place and get the equipment from your car. Also,” Moore stopped to give you an apologetic look. “I assigned you a room to use as a makeshift clinic. It’s small, and an extension of the locker rooms, but we’re working on a budget right now.”

You nodded slowly, slightly hesitant about sharing the same space as big, sweaty, muscled boxer dudes.

Oh well. You wanted to try something new.

Steve was cheerful and polite. Between the two of you, it took you two trips to get everything out of the car and into the building. The hospital had provided basic medical supplies, including small things like medicines, syringes, bandages and such, as well as a hospital couch, IV stands, and a standard crash cart. Needless to say, you were prepared for any kind of emergency the contestants could face during the match.

The locker room wasn’t as sweaty and damp as you were expecting, probably because no one was there at the moment and it was cleaned out. The room Moore was talking about was separated from the lockers by a curtain, the one that resembled hospital curtains and that fact slightly eased you. The space was enough to fit your things into and still have some room to move, so you were satisfied. You had expected much rougher conditions. This was pleasantly surprising.

Steve kept talking during the move, describing enthusiastically the matches that occurred in the building daily. The enthusiastic crowd, the drinks, the laughter and the fun. He spoke of the contestants, most of them locals who did this as a past time.

“And who do you root for?” You asked, making him grin wide.

“Bucky. He’s my best friend.” You could hear the pride in his voice, a smile taking over your face at the tone. You pointed to where you wanted to bottles of medicinal alcohol, and he began placing them there.

“He’s amazing. He’s the reigning champion. Hasn’t lost a match in about two years.” Steve stopped. “But I think that has a lot to do with his metal arm.”

You stared at Steve, pausing your assessment of some anesthetic bottles. “His metal arm?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. He has a prosthetic.”

You nodded. “But isn’t that unfair to the other contestants?”

“Not really. The scar tissue where the arm meets his skin is very sensitive. It’s a kind of weakness that makes up for the advantage.” Steve shrugged. “He used to lose all his matches because of that. So the arm was more of a disadvantage at first. But he managed to turn it into a positive.”

You nodded. “That’s admirable.” You worked in silence for a bit before your curiosity took over again.

“Do you mind if I ask how he got the prosthetic?”

Steve smiled and shook his head, holding up a box of packaged syringes. You pointed to the top shelf and he turned to put them there.

“He was a Sergeant in the military. Lost his arm in the field.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow.”

Silence took over again as you and Steve finished up. The afternoon sunlight was dimming and giving way to the evening, and there were voices in the locker room now. Steve turned to you.

“Let’s go out and get you to your seat, yeah? Make you familiar with the environment around the stage.”

You nodded and Steve pushed back the curtain separating the clinic from the locker room. The room was already a little humid, and five different heads turned to look at you two as the curtain was withdrawn.

You flushed under the stares and Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the doors. You were thankful. You were sure you would have stayed frozen on the spot.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve waved to one of the guys. You followed his gaze to a muscled hunk of a man in a white vest with long hair and a slight stubble. He smiled at Steve, waving. His gaze briefly met yours and your heart rate picked up as his eyes assessed your face. Then, he looked away once more. His arms were a deep contrast to each other; one silver and gleaming under the lights and the other a full sleeve of jet black tattoos. His biceps flexed as he moved. Anyone with half a brain would admit that this Bucky guy was extremely hot.

Steve pulled you out of the room moments later, but your mind was still on Bucky. On the blue of his eyes that matched the small splatter of blue in his sleeve of tattoos perfectly. It was only when you left the hallway and entered the huge sprawling main hall that you were broken from your thoughts.

The crowd had already started pouring in, little scatterings of people here and there taking their seats. The very air of the space seemed to buzz with excitement. Steve led you to the center of the hall where the grand boxing ring stood, lit with bright white lights,walking to the right side over to a long black table with six chairs facing the ring. There were microphones in front of the two middle seats, and water bottles in front of all six chairs. Steve gesture to one at the edge.

“This one’s yours.” He said. You sat the first aid kit down beside the chair’s legs. You had put together the box with minimal supplies, like alcohol wipes, bandages and band aids. Just some instant requirements. Everything else you would need waited at the clinic.

The pouring crowd got denser as time went by. Steve excused himself to check other duties. Two commentators and three judges joined you at the table shortly after. You made small talk that didn’t last more than five minutes. You got engrossed in the environment again soon after.

The hype in the hall was incredible. The tournament was a small, local thing. But the people were very excited. There were enthusiastic debates on the potential winner. People threw about predictions. Everytime someone mentioned the name ‘Bucky Barnes’, your ears would perk up. Your mind traveling back to his huge, looming form. His muscled arms.

If you thought the tension in the air before the match was palpable, it was nothing compared to what it felt like when the match started. From the get go, the crowd was on its feet, shouting and cheering at the contestants. You watched with interest even though you knew next to nothing about boxing. You wouldn’t admit out loud that more than half your interest was focused on the man in red, Bucky, taking in his bare arms that flexed and bulged with each blow, skin coated with a thin layer of sweat. His hair was pulled back in a bun, a few tendrils escaping and sticking to his sweaty face. His movements were sharp and calculated. And you could see how he used his arm to his advantage, how he positioned himself to hide the scarred junction between skin and metal from his contender. He wasn’t local. His own team was on the opposite side of the ring. From where you sat, you spied another doctor, male, in a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck at the opposite table.

The thumps and thuds of fists connecting didn’t phase you, nor did the blood that started running down Bucky’s nose halfway through the last round. You were a practicing medical specialist. Such sights were a norm while you had worked in the ER. This was actually quite mild compared to what you had seen. However, that didn’t stopped your heart from jolting slightly when Bucky grunted at the blows he suffered.

The match went by without much of a hitch. It was as smooth as boxing matches went. Bucky won, to the delighted and hardcore screams of his many fans. You stood up as he came off, a man leading him straight to you. He waved his hands and gestured at the door leading to the locker room, silently leading the two of you away from the screaming crowds.

The screams and shouting diffused as the door shut behind you to the locker rooms. The man leading Bucky had left, leaving you alone to lead him to the clinic. You took a deep breath to help you maintain your cool, slipping into your professional duties as soon as he sat down.

It all went down the drain when you raised a hand up to examine his face for injuries. His protective gear was off, giving you a great excuse to drink in his features.

You breathed again as your gentle hand reached up to touch his nose. You applied slight pressure, making him flinch and it gave you your answer.

“Well, your nose is broken.” You declared, moving to grab some wipes. Bucky grinned.

“Not the first time.” He replied, making you smile back.

“How many times have you broken your nose, by the way?” You continued when you realized he was okay with holding a conversation.

Bucky shrugged, barely flinching when you moved to wipe his nose clean of blood. “Too many times to count. Honestly, it’s a miracle it’s still on my face. I break it more often than I breathe using it.”

You laughed at that, looking up to meet his eyes. He was already looking at you, amusement lingering in the baby blues. Gently, you reached up to brush away a strand of hair sticking to his face, using more towels to dab away his sweat and get a better look at the minor injuries. His eyes never left your face as you worked, making you swallow.

“You don’t have to do anything else.” He said. “The only problem was the nose. The rest is just little cuts and bruises. They’ll heal.”

“I have to clean them at least.” You replied. “Or they’ll get infected.”

Bucky smiled again, this time much softer. “The last doctor who used to look at me would take a piece of cloth, wipe my nose with it, then proceed to wipe the rest of my face with it too.”

You cringed, making Bucky snort. You located another cut on his left cheekbone, wiping it with an alcohol swab.

“What I’m trying to say is, I’m okay with rough treatment.”

“You shouldn’t be.” You interjected, moving to his arms, where he’d received significant bruising. You picked up a clean wet towel again. “You deserve careful handling.” You stopped short to detrack on your words. “Everyone should.”

You knew Bucky’s eyes were still on you, and you pointedly didn’t look at him. He was unnerving you, his stare heavy yet so soft. You knew he’d caught you on your words. Dammit.

You focused on his single flesh arm, the tattoos making some of the injuries harder to see.

“You have a beautiful sleeve.” You commented, taking in the intricate black design. There was an assortment of items drawn there. Guns, boxing gloves, a wide variety of flowers. Here and there were splashes of colour; reds, blues and greens. You wished you could just sit down and look at all of them one by one.

Bucky had a proud smile on his face. “Thanks. They’re my designs.”

Your eyes widened, eyebrows raised. “Really? That’s impressive!” You looked down at them again, taking them in with a new light. “You must be a professional.”

Bucky chucked. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

You laughed and gave him an incredulous look. “Boxer, military man and tattoo artist? Next thing I’ll find out, you’re a doctor too!”

You wrapped up his wrist tight as you spoke, making sure it wouldn’t move much. The joint was inflamed and he needed to rest it.

Bucky was shaking his head. “Nope. That’s something you won’t hear. Tattoos are my post retirement day job.”

You moved to the cabinets, pulling out some painkillers. “Pretty interesting shift. Military to tattoo artist.”

“How’d you know I served?” His spoke from behind you.

You felt your face burn but didn’t turn around, shrugging. “Steve told me.”

You placed the box of meds in front of him, moving to pick up used swabs and bandages, clearing up your space.

“Right. You’ve met that punk already. Nice guy, isn’t he?”

You nodded and gave him a smile, watching him move off the bed. He grinned at you again.

“Thanks for fixing me up.” He said, eyes soft. “Nicest doctor I’ve ever been looked at by.”

You giggled a little, waving your hand to dismiss his compliment. He reached a hand out and you shook it.

“I just did my job.” You said. He was still smiling. He had a gorgeous smile. A contagious smile. You couldn’t help but grin right back.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was an effort to pull your hand away. You wanted to shake his hand over and over again. And maybe touch his entire body while you were at it. You watched him turn and walk over to the curtain hiding you from the rest of the locker room, eyeing the muscles move under his tight shirt. You mentally shook your head to clear the inappropriate thoughts entering your head.

Bucky gave you another smile, slipping out of your work space. The grin on your face was starting to hurt. But you didn’t stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. She’s the medical specialist on call at his matches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets explore the tattoo artist part of this au shall we? ;)

You hummed to yourself, throwing some crisps into your mouth before returning to your book. You sat on the hospital couch that stood in your little clinic, feet crossed over one another as you read your book. You hummed the words as your eyes moved over the pages, taking in the little details. It wasn’t hard to tune out the voices outside in the locker room, men conversing with each other, joking and laughing. You briefly wondered if Bucky was out there or if he had left already. As soon as the thought came, you tried to dismiss it.

The match had ended about half an hour ago. The people still sat in their seats, raising slogans, cheering and shouting. The noise was dimmed in the back rooms, but you could still hear some of it. You didn’t let it bother you, focusing on memorizing the words in front of you. As you read the words, your eyes and fingers moved to trace the diagrams. Of course, you’d learned this all before. But everyone needed a refresher every once in a while. Especially when the material in medicine was so extensive.

Besides, you had to do something to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky touching you in unspeakable ways. They were becoming a problem.

Over the last few days, you had seen Bucky around. Whenever your eyes would meet, he would smile and wave, which you would reciprocate. Your heart would speed up, wanting to talk to him but you never initiated it. Neither did he, both too busy to have time for the other person.

You spent a lot of time either in your little clinic or with Steve. You didn’t really bother to familiarize yourself with other people. About twice or thrice a day, you would be called on to look at minor injuries; a bruised limb, a sprained ankle, an inflamed rotator cuff. All very unexciting.

But it beat working clinic hours at the hospital. The matches that occurred every night were spectacular. You were enjoying yourself thoroughly while on duty. You thrived off of the screaming crowds and the abundant adrenaline. It was exhilarating.

It gave you a lot of time to catch up to your books and other research. You would alternate between reading and watching movies, pigging out on snacks and then going for a walk around the building. You would hope for a glimpse of Bucky as you looked around, mood elevating when you would see him, and falling when you wouldn’t.

It was ridiculous, how much you fantasized about the man. But holy shit, was he a specimen. He was tall and undoubtedly strong. He basically towered over you, and that was enough to induce sinfully dirty thoughts on its own.

You popped another bit of food into your mouth, placing the book back in your lap and closing your eyes. You sighed deep and stood up, stretching. The noises had died down a lot compared to a few minutes ago, signaling that workers had started to ask the crowd to clear out. Trickling water was heard from various showers around the locker room. You wondered if anyone else would come in to have you check them or if you should call it a night as well. You settled on option number two.

Within twenty minutes, you had changed out of your work clothes and lab coat and into comfier sweats, hair up in a bun. All you could think about was flipping onto your bed at home, nearly crying in relief at the realization that tomorrow was your only day off in the week.You thanked the relatively normal working hours you had at the hospital compared to surgeons and some specialists. Man, you loved working your ER shift.

You hummed a tune that had been stuck in your head for the past few hours, breathing in the fresh, cold air of the night that stung your lungs as you walked to your car. Your eye caught movement as you stopped outside your car door to open it. You perked up at the sight of Bucky, leather jacket and hair loose being the first things you noticed. He was walking to a motorcycle not far from where you stood, staring at his phone. You took a breath and looked down where your hand held your door handle, wondering of you should call and wave. You didn’t have to think long, because moments later, Bucky’s voice sounded.

“Y/N?” He said, making your head snap up. You smiled at him, waving a little awkwardly. He walked over to where you stood, grinning.

“Hey! Heading out?”

You nodded. “Yup. Day off tomorrow. I’ve gotta catch up on some sleep.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s great! Hey, since it’s your day off, why don’t you come by the tattoo parlor and see me?”

You blinked. “Wh- Really? That's… I can do that?”

He laughed and nodded. “Of course you can! That’s not even a question!”

You laughed along with him, taking in the amusement in his eyes. But it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Never a moment in Bucky’s company made you feel judged.

“In that case, of course I’ll drop by.”

Bucky leaned against your car, crossing his arms. It took great effort to not look at how his biceps flexed under the tight sleeves of his jacket at the action.

“Got any tattoos?” He asked.

You shook your head. “But I’ve been thinking about getting one.”

Bucky grinned. “Even better. You can look at some designs that you might like. Not that you have to get one. I’m just saying.”

You nodded, feeling excited at the thought of spending time at a tattoo shop. Of spending time with Bucky.

Bucky pushed himself away from the car then, moving slightly closer to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You nodded again, not knowing what to say. Often times, you would wonder if Bucky thought it weird that sometimes you didn’t know what to say. But he always seemed to look at you with a kind softness that threw all those doubts away. It was moments like those that confused you about whether you wanted to fuck him or cuddle him. Maybe both.

Definitely both.

Even in the dim light coming from the street, you could see how Bucky’s eyes darted over your face, tracing your features. You felt your heart lurch as they paused on your lips, only for a split second, but you were too focused to not notice. A little smirk played on his face as his gaze connected with yours once more. His face was too close for you to think properly, so you just nodded at his words. Finally, he moved away.

“Bye.”

It was after Bucky had disappeared from your sights that you leaned against your car. Breathing out the air you had been holding in, you replayed the last few moments in your head.

This man was going to be the death of you.

………………

It was a modest place.

You eyed the little building from the front. A large wooden door with a glass screen at the upper half. It look quaint and peaceful even from the outside, despite the noise on the road it was located along. You pushed the door to enter inside, and all your assumptions were completely right.

The place was as quiet and peaceful as you’d thought it would be. The lobby was small but beautifully decorated, low music floated into the space from somewhere, bringing more comfort with it. Towards the right of the lobby was a wall lined up and down with photo frames. Each frame contained a unique and colourful design, making the wall vibrant and playful. Five feet from the floor up, the wall was lined with ash brown wooden panels, a contrast to the colour on top that worked perfectly. In front of the wooden panels stood comfy looking couches and chairs facing a coffee table made of the same ash brown wood as the panels. Magazines were scattered over the glass top, catalogs of tattoo designs.

To the left stood a huge reception counter, behind which you glimpse a girl. She looked up when the door squeaked open, fiery red hair falling over her forehead at the action, giving you a warm smile.

“Hi!” She chirped. As her mouth moved, you noticed the silver ring encircling the corner of her lip. You saw tattoos peeking over the neck of her black tank top. You walked over to where she sat.

“Hi.” You replied. The place was as cozy and homey as could get, but you still felt a little uncomfortable at the uniqueness and unfamiliarity of it.

“I’m Natasha. Do you have an appointment?”

“Appointment?” You asked, feeling dumb. Of course you needed an appointment. This was a fucking tattoo parlor. You couldn’t just waltz in and demand to see the artist.

“Well, yes. If you don’t have one, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

You knew this wasn’t supposed to be as embarrassing as it felt. Your anxiety made it feel ten times worse than it was. You wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Natasha’s gaze was burning holes into your face. You wanted to die on the spot.

“Y/N?” You whipped around at the voice, nearly screaming in relief at Bucky walking out from behind a door ahead of the counter. He smiled at you, making half of your worries melt away instantly.

“Bucky, hi. Um, I forgot to make an appointment. But that’s okay. I’ll just come back later-”

The look Bucky threw at you made you stop.He looked at you, confused, then turned his gaze to the redhead behind the counter. His expression turned to one of comprehension and he threw her a deadpan look. Natasha grinned.

“I couldn’t help it. She’s the sweetest little thing. And she just about died when I told her that.” She was laughing now.

Bucky rolled his eyes, even though there was a little smile playing on his face.

“I’m not busy, Y/N.” He said, the blue of his eyes so calm that you felt the other half of your worries melt away too. “And you don’t need an appointment. You can come see me anytime you want.”

You had to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot at his words, walking over to him when he gestured for you to follow him. Natasha was still smiling.

“Hope you don’t mind, Y/N. Just a harmless joke.”

“Of course.” You smiled at her. “No harm done.” You two disappeared behind the door then.

The room you entered was actually slightly larger than the lobby. In contrast to the colours there, it was bare white. The floors were white marble too. Against the left wall sat a large black desk scattered with pages where you spied incomplete sketches. On the other side was a large black leather chair and a small table next to it. There was equipment on it, equipment that you assumed was used for tattooing. The wall where the door stood was covered in sketch sheets, design after design of tattoos on it. You looked at it in awe, the drawings intricate to a point unimaginable. Some black and white while others were coloured. Each design was better than the last.

“Sorry about Nat.” Bucky spoke. “She has a weird sense of humor.”

You shook your head and looked back at him. He was leaning against his desk, eyes on you. Your gaze travelled down to his sleeveless black tee and black jeans. The muscle definitions of his two contrasting arms moved and flexed, and you had to stop your mouth from dropping over at the sight of them. God, if you had an arm kink, this man was the reason why.

“She's….” Beautiful. Confident. Much better than me. “She’s something.” You choked out a laugh, turning back to the wall of drawings so you could hide your face.

“These are beautiful.” You commented, trying to divert the attention that you suddenly felt was on you. “They’re more than beautiful. There has to be a better word than that.”

Bucky laughed and you heard him walk over to where you stood. But he didn’t look up. Instead, he looked down at you.

“Beautiful is a great word.” His voice was low, eyes boring into yours. A smile still played on his face. “Very fit for what we’re looking at.”

You didn’t break your gaze from his, feeling blood rush to your face. That had to be flirting. It couldn’t be anything else.

You cleared your throat and looked back at the wall. Your heart was beating like crazy. You were still unable to understand how someone could make you feel so at peace yet so out of your element at the same time. You focused on the drawings once more, trying to stop your racing thoughts. You remembered the first time you had privately shared a space with Bucky. That was nothing compared to this. Your infatuation with Bucky had grown a lot in that time.

“I wanna get a tattoo.” You blurted out.

Bucky turned to you, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Are you sure? Tattoos are permanent, you know.”

You gave him a look before speaking again. “I know. But I’ve been wanting to get one. And what better time to do that than now?” And I don’t know why I trust you so much but I want you to give me that tattoo.

Bucky nodded slowly, still looking at you. “You’re completely sure?”

You didn’t know what to make of the concern in his eyes, so you just nodded.

He smiled a little, moving to the desk where he ruffled around for a blank sheet. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

About twenty minutes later you lay on the chair as you watched Bucky prep the tattoo gun he would use to tattoo the design onto your skin. You had wanted it on your hip. Your shirt was lifted up and waistband of your jeans pulled down slightly. You felt a little uncomfortable. But if you were going to do this, you would do this right.

As he prepared and sterilized your skin, your breath caught, realizing how bizarre this situation was. You had come here to make conversation with a man you were crushing on. And here you sat, about to have something be permanently carved into your skin.

A smile took over Bucky’s face and he looked up at you. His gloved hands still worked on the gun. He wheeled his stool closer to you, holding the gun in one hand. “You can tell me to stop anytime you want. This is normally when people have second thoughts.”

You nodded, then thought again and shook your head. “No, no. I want this.”

Bucky’s smile softened and he grabbed your hand with his gloved one. He placed it on his left bicep, the metal one.

“Just for comfort.” He said. “It’s gonna hurt a bit, okay?”

You squeezed his arm, grateful for the traction. He was being so considerate, it made your heart flutter.

“It’ll look great, I promise. Ready?” He positioned the gun. You nodded.

“Ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. She’s the medical specialist on call at his matches.

You couldn’t stop touching it.

It had been three days since you got your tattoo. You had followed the instructions for the aftercare like it was the word of God, making sure you did everything right. This caused your tattoo to heal quite nicely. It looked better than you thought it would. Every time you looked at it, you would declare the pain it took worth it. At work, you would subconsciously place your hand over the area, imagining how it looked. Weirdly enough, it made you feel sexy. You enjoyed that feeling a lot.

Bucky had checked in regularly to ask you how the healing was going. You hadn’t seen each other since then. His next match wasn’t until today, so he wasn’t around at the boxing ring till then. He would call or text to check up on you, often giving you little tips that you hung onto very tightly. You still remembered how he had leaned close to your hip, how his hands had held you so gently as his fingers worked to make a perfect piece of art on your body. Till then, you had only seen Bucky break noses with those hands curled into fists. You hadn’t imagined they would be so caring.

You were, admittedly, putty in said hands. And you were done trying to deny it. Bucky was so caring but so hot at the same time, it wasn’t human. There wouldn’t pass more than half an hour before your thoughts drifted to him again, whether consciously or subconsciously. You wanted to be around him all the time. He was becoming too important to you.

“Hey.”

You yelped and whirled around, a hand clutching your chest. Bucky was standing behind you, holding open the curtain that separated your makeshift clinic from the locker room. He gave you a look before snorting.

“Really?”

You scowled. “Shut up. I was unprepared. You would have done the same thing.”

Bucky laughed and stepped inside, curtain falling back into place and shielding you two from everyone else. Your eyes darted over his form, drinking him in. It had only been three days but it felt so much longer.

“Actually, I would have punched first and looked later.”

You let out a laugh, both of you smiling at each other.

“How are you?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. Bucky smiled softly at you.

“I’m fine. How are you? How’s the tattoo?”

Your hand touched your hip again out of instinct. You had worn high waisted jeans today so that the waistband wouldn’t rub over the tattoo again and again. It was healed by now, but you didn’t want to risk it. You were a little paranoid like that.

“It’s good. Almost completely fine now.” You replied.

“Mind if I see it?”

Your heart jumped at the request, but you nodded nonetheless. Of course he could see it. He was the one who put it there. Nothing to look into. He just wanted to see how it was doing. No big deal.

You unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down until the tattoo was revealed, the black looking almost mysterious against your skin. Your breath hitched when Bucky ran his flesh fingers over the tattoo.

It made you realize how close he was standing.

His head was bowed, so when you looked up, his face was closer to yours than you expected. His fingers still lingered on your skin, lighting your nerve endings on fire. He was looking at you now as his finger stayed on the tattoo. It was getting harder to breathe.

His eyes darted down to your lips, his own parting. They were rosy red as your gaze fell on them. All you could imagine was what they would feel like nipping hungrily at yours.

A squeak sounded in the space when the door to the locker room opened, and then a voice.

“Bucky?”

You jumped away from him as if he had stung you, hurriedly pulling up your jeans and buttoning them. Bucky cleared his throat and turned, pushing the curtain aside. Steve blinked when his form revealed. He smiled and waved at you.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi.” You squeaked out, still reeling from what had happened. What could have happened.

“Time to go, Buck. They’re waiting for you.”

Bucky nodded, a hand reaching up to push his hair back. He turned to glance at you briefly, but you turned away, heart still beating fast. You heard the curtain fall back to its place as Bucky left the clinic.

…………………

In the last minute of your life you wouldn’t have predicted what happened that night.

Next time you saw Bucky after your almost kiss in the clinic was when he walked to the boxing rink amidst excited cheering from the crowd. Your heart lurched when you visualized him, climbing through the ropes to stand at one corner of the ring. His metal arm gleamed under the lights, the red star standing prominent on his bicep. His hair hung lose today instead of back in its usual bun. His opponent was already on the other end. Tall with curly, blond hair and a ruddy complexion. You weren’t paying attention when the commentators introduced him, so you couldn’t be able to tell his name if your life depended on it. But never ever would you forget the little smirk that crossed his features just before the first round started. You wished you had put together right then why he was smirking like that.

From the beginning, you noticed something strange. This guy’s approach was different, even weird compared to everyone you’d seen on the stage till then. His punches never went straight ahead. Rather, they curved at the last minute.

It was during the final round that you realized why, and what he had been trying to do.

His glove clad right fist connected with Bucky’s left shoulder, right where his prosthetic met his skin. He grunted in pain, eyes screwed shut and stumbling at the impact. The blond guy didn’t stop. He threw another punch, and another, at the same spot.

Panicked, you stood up. Steve’s words were running through your head now.

The point where his arm meets his skin. It was considered his weak spot.

Your eyes met Steve’s, who stood about twenty feet to your left. You saw his pale face, saw the fear in his features. You knew he had caught on.

This guy was attacking Bucky where he was most vulnerable.

Everything after that happened so fast. Bucky stopped attacking, moving to position his arms for defense. He seemed to hunch in on himself. Your keen eyes immediately picked out the redness spreading across the skin, the slight displacement of his arm. The next blow that hit the arm gave you your answer when you saw the slight lurch that the arm took backward. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have been prominent. But you caught it immediately. And you knew that you had to stop this or his whole arm would be ripped out.

Steve moved just as you did. You shouted at the referee, catching his eye. He blew his whistle when he noticed the white lab coat on your body and the stethoscope around your neck.

Bucky’s head snapped towards you, eyes wide. Then, you saw another emotion in them that you’d never seen before. Anger.

He was in front of you in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed, sticking his head between the ropes to look at you.

You scowled, swallowing your anxiety and the amount of eyes now on you. Bucky glared at you, hair messed and face sweaty. He was breathing heavily. His shoulder had started to bleed.

“I’m going back in.” He spoke again when you failed to respond, his words directed at Steve. That snapped you out of your head straight away.

“Are you crazy?” You shouted over the booing crowd. “Bucky, your arm is going to rip off if you keep going. It’s already bleeding!”

Bucky’s jaw ticked and he turned to you.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing it long before you showed up.”

You retracted like you’d just been slapped, disbelieving look taking over your face. Bucky’s expression flickered before taking on an even deeper scowl and standing back up. He walked back to where he was, exchanging a few words with the referee. He whistled. The match resumed.

Everything seemed tuned out after that as you replayed Bucky’s words again and again. You didn’t know what to make of them, except the meaning was very clear. Bucky had made it very obvious that you were butting in where you didn’t need to. And that made you angry.

Angry because your butting in was completely justified. You were a doctor that was doing her job. You had tried to prevent a serious injury that would most definitely happen now. Give or take three more blows at the area that was already irritated. You had done what this place had hired you to do; fix people up and make sure nothing too catastrophic happened. You had done your task like you were supposed to.

But what stung the most, something deep within you that you didn’t want to admit, was that you hadn’t just spoken out of professional need. You had done it because you cared. Because you had panicked. Because you hated seeing Bucky hurt. You hated seeing him walk into the clinic, covered in cuts and bruises and aching all over. The grin on his face would calm you down. Knowing you were treating him and giving him the best handling that you could took the edge off even more. But he was no longer just a patient. He was Bucky.

He was the same Bucky that could get a laugh out of you anytime he wanted. The same one you felt so comfortable around. That you could blurt out the weirdest things in front of. He was the same Bucky that had made it his responsibility to make you as relaxed as possible when working on you with a needle. The same one that ran gentle fingers over your skin not more than an hour ago. The same one that had almost kissed you.

Bucky lost the match.

It caused a great uproar, the crowd trying to break past the barrier and towards the ring. Security jumped in as other workers began clearing the area before things got out of hand. You were led away from the commotion and back towards your clinic. A man that you couldn’t see was addressing you, saying your contestant would come see you as soon as they got you both safely away from the hall, and that you should go wait in the clinic. Bucky had managed to keep his arm intact. But you didn’t need a professional eye anymore to know it needed serious care.

Your heart was too heavy to argue. You just followed his instructions.

……………

“Y/N?” There wasn’t a door on which he could knock, so Steve just popped his head in through the curtain before letting his body follow. You glanced at him briefly, turning back to your book.

“Hey.” He continued. You smiled slightly at him, nodding.

“Hey.”

It wasn’t Steve’s fault that Bucky had snapped at you. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that your anxiety was making you overthink his words until you were sure he hated you. So why take it out on him? One look at his small, cautious frame and you felt your anger dissipate slightly.

“I, uh… I just wanted to check how you were doing.”

You forced out laugh, waving your hand in dismissal. “I’m fine, Steve. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve shrugged. “I know you tend to take things harder than other people.”

You looked up at him, sighing. His stare said it all. He’d figured it out. Both that you had anxiety, and that you had feelings for Bucky.

“Yeah.” You replied, not knowing what to say. “But I’m fine. I’ll be okay. I just need some time.”

Steve smiled a little. “To think about the situation and twist it even more?”

“I- no.” You lied, frowning, knowing that’s exactly what your brain would do.

Steve nodded, again knowing what you meant. You had to give it to him. He was smart.

“Just so you know, Bucky dials up to 11 whenever he fights. He hasn’t lost a match since forever. What happened today, it was new to him. It’s not usual that someone figures out exactly where to hit and how to hit it, especially when he hides it so well. He was being stubborn because he didn’t want to lose his winning streak.”

You sighed a bit, sitting up.

“I’m not mad at him, Steve. I’m just-” You shrugged. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. But I get why he said it. It was just unexpected. I’ll be okay. I just need a breather, I guess.”

Steve nodded, shuffling to move backward. “Talk to him, okay?”

You nodded. “I will. He’ll probably be over in a bit to get that arm checked. We’ll talk, I promise.”

Steve gave you one last smile, one you couldn’t help but return. Then, he slipped out of your space, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. She’s the medical specialist on call at his matches.

Ever since what happened at the match, you had felt a myriad of emotions. You’d felt hurt, angry, upset, frustrated. But now all those emotions gave way to a single one. Worry.

Your brain had switched off just a little while after Steve left, exhaustion from 6 in the morning to now, about midnight, catching up on you. Sighing, you sat at the edge of the patient’s couch, legs dangling slightly. You placed a hand on your forehead to try and ease the slowly forming headache. You knew you couldn’t leave yet. You had to wait for Bucky to show up. You couldn’t go home knowing he was injured and hurting. You had to wait.

You woke with a start, staring at the plain white ceiling. Blinking a few times to clear the sleep from your eyes, you sat up, groaning as your stiff muscles moved. You felt even more tired than the last time you remembered,limbs weighing a hundred pounds and your fingers reached up, rubbing your eyes and blinking again. You looked around and suddenly remembered where you were. You groaned again when you realized you had fallen asleep while waiting for Bucky.

You didn’t know how long it had been since the match ended. All you knew was that Bucky had still not come for his checkup. Or maybe he had and you had been asleep. Up until then, you had been too stubborn to go looking for him or ask anyone where he was and why he hadn’t been to see you. But now your thoughts were once again wandering off to the injured and red, bleeding skin of his shoulder, and you couldn’t stay back any longer. You were too concerned. You had to go look for him.

The corridor was even more dimly lit than usual, indicating that most workers had gone home. The dark made it look almost sinister, and that nearly chased away all your sleep. You stared wide eyed down the narrow stretch. You hadn’t realized how much time had gone by. You had never stayed here this late.

Your feet didn’t make a lot of noise as you moved, and most of the place was silent, so you put your ears to work in order to guess where someone might be. You could ask them where Bucky was. Briefly, you wondered if he’d gone home without coming to see you. What if he was still mad at your intervention during the match? What if he blamed you for losing his focus and having his tempo broken? Maybe you were the reason he lost.

You took a deep breath, trying to will the nasty thoughts away. This was not the time to overthink.

You walked back to the main hall where the match had taken place, peeking out at it by opening the door slightly. Eyebrows furrowing, you pushed the door all the way open when you realized there wasn’t anyone there. The mess from the match was all still lying about, and you knew everyone was too tired to deal with it. They would spend all next day clearing this crap up. Two small lights shone at either ends of the space, but other than that, the hall was dark. You knew a guard had to be roaming around here somewhere. Once again, you were shocked at not having realized how much time had passed. The windows told you it was still dark out. You finally remembered that you were a normal human being that owned a fully functional phone, and you fished into your pockets for it, squinting slightly when the screen lit up. Almost 3am.

You sighed. Yup, Bucky must have definitely gone home. And for all you knew, you were locked into this place. Great.

You walked back down the hall towards where you had come from, planning on gathering your stuff and heading to the exit while hoping and praying a night guard would help you out. Your feet padded down the marble floors, faltering slightly and coming to a stop when you heard repeated thuds.

You couldn’t make out what the noise was. It was very faint and indistinct. Squinting your eyes and straining your ears, you listened for a good few moments before walking forward again, towards where you assumed the noise was coming from.

You walked past the locker room, even farther down the hall. Your little investigation led you to a large brown door. You stared at it, nodding to yourself when the noises seemed to be coming from inside. There was thuds, and the occasional squeak of rubber across the floor. Slowly, you pushed the door open.

The door made no noise as light poured out from the room the farther you opened it. Squinting against the brightness, you blinked a few times to get used to it, eyebrows raising when you took in the sight.

It was kind of a gym. But with much less gym equipment and just loads of punching bags hanging from the rods crossing from one wall to another. Three walls were lined with mirrors, while the fourth one was wooden and held several hooks, all holding various sizes of boxing gloves. A wooden rack with various compartments stood against said wall, most probably for holding shoes or bags. You were sure this was where contestants practiced. But all this wasn’t what really caught your eye in the room. It was the sweaty back that faced you.

Grunts escaped Bucky as he landed punch after punch on the dull brown bag. He was shirtless, basking under the bright lights of the gym. The sweat glistened on his skin, a glaring contrast over his jet black tattoos. Your eyes raked over the huge tattoo covering his back, sharp tendrils of it originating from the small of his back, curling over his shoulder blades and disappearing under his hair at his neck and his arms. You swallowed thickly as his muscles shifted with each punch he landed. You had to physically squeeze your thighs together and grit your teeth to stop what was going on in your body.

Your eyes caught the red scar tissue of his arm then, widening at the sight. It was no better than what you remembered. In fact, it looked worse. You moved into the room, the door slowly swinging back to its place and shutting with a click.

The little noise caught Bucky’s attention and he stopped. He stepped a little to the side and looked forward to catch your eyes in the mirror. His face paled in recognition, turning so he could look at you face to face.

“I thought you went home.” He spoke, voice slightly echoing in the vacant gym.

You shook your head, breath hitching at the sound of his voice. God, it still did things to you. You felt frustrated and confused. Bucky made you feel so much. One minute you wanted to pull him to you and feel him all over and the next you want to gently stitch him up and take care of him. The range of emotions made your head spin, and most of the time, you couldn’t comprehend them.

You folded your arms, hesitantly moving forward to where Bucky stood.

“I was waiting for you to come so I could look you over.” You gestured to his shoulder.

Bucky frowned, but his eyes remained soft. “You didn’t have to. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” You said, voice rising slightly. You didn’t know why you felt so emotional all of a sudden. Maybe it was the constant build up of this - whatever it was - between you two. Maybe it was his voice, that still sounded low and soothing despite snapping at you earlier that night. Or maybe it was his eyes, the endless baby blues looking at you like you were the whole world. You felt the same frustration, both emotional and sexual. You wanted him, and not just in a physically way. You wanted him in every sense of the word. Bucky Barnes had made you feel too much. You were in too deep.

Bucky breathed deep at the crack of your voice, chest still rising and falling, slightly out of breath because of the exertion his body was under earlier. You moved closer to where he stood. Feeling bold, you raised a hand up to gently run over his injured skin. You heard his shaky intake of breath, felt the shudder of his body at the feeling.

The tattoos covered a few parts of his shoulders as well, but his torso was bare. You inspected the tissue closely, taking in the areas where fresh blood shone, little in amount, but still there, peeking out from the clotted wounds he had opened by the physical strain he was giving them just then. You were sure he hadn’t even bothered cleaning it up.

“You’re always so careless.” You said. “Why would you care so much about one little tattoo I got, when you can’t even be bothered to try and fix something that might make your prosthetic useless?”

Bucky sighed and his head hung low, hair hiding his face from view.

“I was scared to come see you.” He whispered. “I snapped at you. I hurt you. And I was scared that I had lost you. Lost you even before you were mine.”

His eyes met yours at that. Heart beating a million miles a minute, you reached your other unoccupied hand up to push his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw in the process.

“I’m not mad.” You replied. “I was hurt, yeah. But I was scared too. That you hated me because I made you lose the match. I kept thinking about it over and over-”

You stopped short when Bucky huffed out a laugh, flesh hand reaching up to hold yours to his face. His stubble scratched at your palms but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed the feeling.

“Why would I be mad at you? You tried to look out for me. I lost because I was being a stubborn asshole.”

You smiled a bit. “That’s not why you lost. But yeah, you were being a stubborn asshole.”

Bucky grinned his signature grin at that, making you giggle.

“So we’re okay?” He said, a hint of hesitation creeping into his voice.

You nodded, still smiling wide. “We’re good.”

You stared at him a bit longer before your focus shifted back to his injured shoulder.

“Let’s look at this now, yeah?” Your voice was gentle, as if addressing a child. You pursed your lips, pressing at the different areas to gauge how sensitive the skin was. Bucky grunted and tensed, making you send him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Does that hurt?” He shook his head immediately.

“No it- I’m fine.”

His voice had dropped a few notches and you raised your eyebrows, not understanding the reaction. Your hand moved away from his shoulder and towards the reddened area, again pressing slightly on it to check if the blood had started clotting. As you ran your fingers over his skin, a metal hand came up to clamp around your wrist. Your head snapped up.

“You’ve gotta stop running your hands over my skin, doll. Or I won’t hesitate to make a move that we both might regret later.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you watched the blue in his eyes darken, pupils dilating. You felt yourself clench at the low rumble of his voice. Your eyes fell to his plump, rosy lips.

“I know for a fact that I won’t regret it.” You managed to rasp out, the hand not in his grip now moving down to Bucky’s chest, palm flat on his skin.

Bucky growled, both hands moving to your hips and pulling you closer. Your body came in contact with his bare torso, breath hitching at the feeling of hard muscles against you. You knew, instantly, where this was going. And you made no move to stop it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. She’s the medical specialist on call at his matches.

His body was hot, strong and hard against yours. His hand pushed your hair away, lips connecting with the skin below your ear. Your back arched into him when his fingers trailed down your back to your ass, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans. His teeth lightly nipped at your skin, making your breath catch. The close proximity between you two made him feel the littlest of reactions, and he smirked. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” His lips brushed your ear, hands squeezing your ass. “Thought about you all the time. Thought about all the things I could do to you. How loud I’d make you scream my name.”

You whimpered and felt heat pool in your panties. Your palms pressed to his bare back, traveling upwards and feeling his muscles shift and flex under your touch. He was nibbling at your earlobe, sending chills down your spine. Not being able to wait any longer, you smashed your lips to his.

You both moaned simultaneously at the feeling, his tongue sliding past your lips to immediately dominate the kiss. You keened at the feeling, getting wetter by the second. His fingers circled your hips to move forward, fiddling with the button of your jeans before popping them open. Undoing the zipper, his flesh hand snuck inside to cup your clothed heat. All throughout, he never stopped kissing you, tongue caressing your own.

“Baby,” he mumbled. “I haven’t even started yet and you’re already so wet. Is all this for me?”

You moaned against his mouth, hips jerking forward to get more friction. You felt him smirk, pressing his palm to your cunt.

“Stop teasing.” You rasped out, moving your mouth down to nip his jaw. His other hand was under your shirt, the cool metal pressed flat to your back to hold you close to him. His fingers pressed harder to your wetness.

“Bucky.” You whined, hands digging into his back at the feeling. He groaned.

“My name on your lips sounds better than I thought.” He spoke, pulling back enough to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown, a thin rim of blue lining them. His lips were red and swollen, breaths heavy. You felt a surge of pride at having turned him on so much.

His lips met yours again, the kiss harder and more frantic. His fingers started rubbing you incessantly, the rough feel of the lace sending jerking sensations through your body. Then, he was moving, laying you down on the hardwood floor. The cool feeling of it send shivers up your spine and you moaned at the additional sensation. Bucky settled between your legs, bare torso pressed flat to yours. You moaned over and over, muffled by his mouth on yours, hands feeling him all over. Then, suddenly, his weight and his hand were gone.

Your eyes shot open, breaths fast and heavy. Bucky had sat back, eyes raking over your body. His hands rested on your knees before moving upward over your bent legs, running over your thighs. His thumbs brushed the inside of them, before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans and tugged. You lifted your hips, the material sliding off before Bucky threw them away. He repeated the action with your soaking lace panties. But instead of throwing them away, he tucked them into the pocket of his shorts.

His eyes never once left you as he leaned down, looking positively ravenous as they held contact with your own. Then, they fell shut, and he licked a long, thick stripe over your throbbing pussy.

You mewled at the feeling, back arching and head falling back. His flesh arm fell over your hips to hold you in place as he licked over and over, little kitten licks driving you wild. The empty gym made your voice echo, your bare skin squealing when it slid on the floor. Your hand tangled itself in Bucky’s hair and tugged, making him hum against you. You gasped.

For a split second, his licks stopped. Then, you felt lips press to your clit and suck hard.

You cried out and your hips jerked up despite Bucky’s grip, and you could feel his smirk against you and you let out moan after moan at the feeling, eyes squeezing shut.

“Got a sensitive little clit, don’t you baby?” His voice was silky soft and low, sounding like everything your wet dreams were made of. Your answer was another loud mewl, fingers gripping his hair tight. He alternated between sucking and licking, moving his head side to side. His stubble scratched at your thighs, and you knew you’d have a burn the next day. The thought of it only turned you on more.

You gasped and arched your back again when two ice cold digits pressed to your tight hole. You knew it was the metal fingers, and holy shit they felt better than you ever thought they would. One of them pressed against the resistance, sliding deep into you. The metal had no problem against your wet, silky walls. Another one slid next to it just moments after.

Your hands tugged at Bucky’s hair, thighs clenching around his head. He hummed against your clit, sucking relentlessly on it. His fingers pumped in and out only a few times before you came, hard enough to see stars.

You gasped for breath, muscles rigid as wave after wave of sweet orgasm washed over you. Bucky didn’t stop what he was doing, coaxing every last drop from you and onto his fingers. Finally, he pulled away.

You lay on the floor, bones like jelly. Breathing hard, you opened your eyes to look at Bucky. He was coated with sweat, lips swollen and his mouth and chin wet with your juices, and once again, you felt yourself clench at the sight. You bit your lip.

“So sexy, doll.” Bucky cooed. His hands were making work to remove his clothes and then your shirt. Your mouth fell open at the sight of his cock, huge and hard, turned dark red with arousal. The tip leaked precum and it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

“You look so beautiful.” Bucky spoke again, leaning forward to press his torso to yours, elbows holding him up so his weight wouldn’t crush you. His cock pressed to your hip and you moved so your pussy slid over it, watching as Bucky groaned. His flesh hand grabbed your hip as he finally buried himself where you needed him most.

Your mouth fell open as he bottomed out, stretching your walls and making your legs fall open again. His hips connected with your pussy and he stayed there for a moment before he moved, just slightly, to get used to the feeling.

“Baby, you feel so good wrapped around my cock.” Bucky’s voice was strained and he was moving now, his thrusts shallow and slow.

“Bucky.” Your voice was hoarse with pleasure, legs wrapping around his waist. “So big. Fill me up so good.”

Bucky groaned and buried his head in your neck, thrusts picking up speed. He slid all the way out before slamming back in, making your whole body jerk upward with the impact. His hips collided with yours over and over, the sound of skin slapping against skin louder it the empty gym. The contrast of Bucky’s warm chest over you and the cool floor under you felt incredible. Then, he pulled out.

You whined as he lay next to you, turning your body to face away from him. His hand hooked under your leg to pull it up, sliding into you again from behind.

Your eyes immediately fell to the wall in front of you. To the mirror that lined it. You watched the two naked bodies on the floor, tangled up so much that you couldn’t tell the limbs apart, eyeing Bucky’s cock as it disappeared into you again and again. You moaned loudly.

“You like that, doll?” Bucky’s breath was hot against your ear. “Like watching yourself get fucked?”

Your palm slapped against the floor, pressing hard against it to give you some leverage. Bucky pushed your leg up higher, thrusts increasing their pace. His eyes met yours in the mirror. You looked into the blackened pupils and screamed again, clenching around him as you came hard.

Your nerve endings felt like they were on fire, a myriad of sensations bathing you as Bucky continued to thrust. You writhed in his grip, eyes squeezing shut. Tears escaped your eyes at the mere intensity of the situation,walls clenching over and over until he groaned loudly in your ear, emptying his hot load in you, thrusts faltering.

His movements slowed down gradually, letting your leg fall back down. His cock slowly pulled out of you, making your walls throb and pulse at the sudden emptiness. A soft hand ran up your thigh and hips, running gently over your waist. His lips pressed little kisses over your sweaty skin, making you smile. Your hand moved to covered his own, making him look at you in the mirror. His own smile was soft and lazy.

“Hey.” He whispered. “Can I tell you something?”

You hummed in agreement, pulling his hand up to your lips to press kisses to his knuckles. He grin at the action.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the reigning boxing champion of Brooklyn. She’s the medical specialist on call at his matches.

You hummed when hands ran up your thighs and your waist, squeezing your sides gently and finally settling on your hips. Bucky’s lips were moving slowly on your own, tongue taking its time to measure out every nook and cranny of your mouth. Your thumbs ran over his jaw, stubble tickling your skin. Your hands then ran down to move over his chest, his loose vest top sliding under your touch.

In the distance, you could hear the roaring crowd, you could hear the cheers and slogans already being raised in the air. The exhilarating vibe from the hall floated all the way to your clinic, making you smile.

“What?” Bucky mumbled against your mouth, sensing the movement of your lips. He pulled away and raised an eyebrow in curiosity, a smile breaking on his face as well when he saw yours.

“They really love you.” You said, referring to the screaming crowd.

Bucky shrugged, hands rubbing your thighs. You swayed your feet a bit where your legs lay on either side of Bucky’s waist, fiddling with the silver chain that gleamed against his neck, a shiny contrast to the black tattoos peeking from his shirt.

“I am on an unbelievable streak. Three years with no defeat. If that’s not an excuse to hype up, I don’t know what is.” Bucky wore a smirk on his face, making you give him a look. “Not that I’m bragging, it’s all because of you.”

You raised an eyebrow as Bucky leaned down, pressing a kiss below your ear. “Because of me? How?”

You felt him smile against your neck. “I haven’t lost a single match since we’ve been together. That’s three years of victory all because of you.”

You giggled, sighing when Bucky gently nibbled on your skin. Your fingers reached up to tangle in his hair. “I didn’t do anything.” You managed to say, eyes fluttering shut. Bucky continued kissing your neck, hands rubbing your skin under your shirt.

“Buck?” You felt a familiar voice call, making Bucky groan and pull away. “Match starts in five minutes!”

Steve didn’t push the curtain that separated you two and him back, he just screamed the words before moving out of the locker room. He had walked in on compromising situations between you and Bucky more than enough times to be completely scarred. Three years of such accidents and he knew not to walk into the clinic when it was just you and Bucky in there.

“Okay!” You said on Bucky’s behalf, who was sulking and had resorted to hug you tight to his body. You giggled again, running your hands over his shoulders.

“Go kill it out there.” You whispered.

“Of course. I’ll win.” He replied, moving away to reach for his black boxing gloves to pull them on. You raised an eyebrow.

“Conceited, much?” You teased.

Bucky grinned and tightened to gloves. “Nope.” He said, leaning down to press his lips to yours one final time. “I know I’ll win because you’re here.”

You grinned at him as he pulled the curtain back. He looked at you once more, winking.

“I know I’ll win because I fight for you now.”


End file.
